A Twist of Fate
by mugglebornarcher
Summary: What if Gyda would've lived? Would she become a shield-maiden like her mother? Could she ever forgive Ragnar? Would she fall in love? Years have passed since Gyda and Bjorn have seen Ragnar. Although they'd never regret their decision of choosing to go with their mother, they can't help but think of Kattegat. What will happen in a twist of fate when their old life meets the new?
1. Chapter 1

Lagertha Lothbrok was a strong woman. She could take any man in a fight, she could look her own death in the eye without fear, and she could face most any suffering; she could endure most anything, but this...this truly tested her.

Gyda was her only daughter, the second of the children she had had with the great Ragnar Lothbrok; her only daughter, and there she lay, dying and Lagertha had no power to save her. She had already tried every remedy she could think of and prayed to the gods to spare her every second of everyday, but Gyda only seemed to get worse.

Just days ago, she had watched Siggy burn her own daughter's body; Lagertha had helped her stack Thyri's funeral pyre herself and comforted her in her grief. She pitied her friend. Though Lagertha had had her own share of pain, Siggy had become victim to so much more, losing Thyri was just another excruciating stab in her heart. Sometimes she feared Siggy might never be the same, Thyri's death had taken a massive toll on her, having already lost her sons and husband before her. Lagertha couldn't bear to face the same fate. It had not been long since she had miscarried her unborn son...she could not...no, she _would _not lose another child.

Lagertha sighed as she swept a stray strand of Gyda's long blonde locks off of her sweat stained forehead. Gyda flinched slightly in response to her touch, her pale lips opening ever so slightly, but no matter, she did not wake from her feverish sleep. The girl looked so small and helpless, reminding Lagertha of when she was just a babe. She wanted nothing more but to take her into her arms and will all her pain away; to hold her and singing to her until all her trouble melted away, as she used to when Gyda was just a child, but it wasn't that simple. A barrier stood between them that Lagertha had found near impossible to breech.

"Is she doing any better?"

Lagertha peered over her shoulder. Athelstan, the priest that her husband had brought back with him from England nearly a year ago on his first raid, stood in the doorway. His skin was still pale from his recent experience with the epidemic, but color was slowly beginning to return to his face.

Since he had become well enough, he had been assisting her in caring for the others that still lay sick and dying, offering different remedies from his homeland to try to revive them. He looked between the mother and the daughter, his eyes resting on the latter of the two, filling with concern.

"She is alive." Lagertha replied with a mournful sigh, "And she is asleep at the moment." she added, coming to her feet and shepherding Athelstan out of the room. "We shouldn't wake her," she explained after they were out of the Hall. "She needs to build up her strength if she's to survive."

Athelstan nodded in agreement.

When the priest didn't speak, Lagertha took her turn. "Why have you come?" she inquired.

"This," he replied, bringing a strange liquid concoction to Lagertha's attention. It was contained in a vial, resembling some type of potion. "This," he repeated, "Is a tonic which Father Cuthbert taught me back in England." he explained. "He used it once, that I can remember, to heal one of the other brothers of a fever, much like the one that has plagued Kattegat...if I've remembered and prepared it correctly, it may the answer we've been searching for...this might be able to save her."

"This can save my daughter?" she questioned, eyeing the vial hopefully. "Is this the remedy that you've been trying to remember? The one that you think might serve as a cure?"

Athelstan bit his lip. "Possibly. I've tried it on one other person yesterday, when I was just about certain that I had finally gotten it right...it's too soon to tell if it has worked. The fever Father Cuthbert used the tonic to cure might be very different from this epidemic..."

"No matter, we have no other choice." she declared. She lead him back inside, glancing to the place where Gyda lay, amongst the others who had fallen ill, for a moment before returning her gaze to Athelstan. "Save my daughter, Priest. This tonic...brew more of it. If it is successful, then it shall be the answer to our prayers, and if it isn't..." she trailed off, deciding against voicing the former. She shook her head. "It matters not. This may be our only chance."

Without any farther instruction, Athelstan made his way over to Gyda. The girl was fully awake by then, her eyes wandering about the room wearily until they rested on him. "Athelstan?"

He smiled at her, trying his best to offer her as much encouragement as he could muster. "Yes, it's me." he said, kneeling beside her. "Are you feeling any better?"

She hesitated before nodding. "Yes."

He could sense the lie as it slipped past her lips. For a girl of twelve, he could easily see that she was very brave, but what else would you expect from the product of Ragnar and Lagertha?

"I asked Móðir to pray for you," she continued, strategically changing the subject from her own health. "I'm glad to know that the gods have spared you."

Again, he smiled. He couldn't help it. Ever since he had been taken to this strange land, it had always been Gyda that had made life tolerable for him. She was the only one who truly accepted him, with the exception of her father. In truth, it had even taken Lagertha quite awhile before she grew fond of him. Gyda, however, had always been there.

"I've brought something that might make you well again." he said, withdrawing the tonic vial from his pocket. "It's a tonic that I have made that might be able to serve as a cure...you trust me, don't you?"

Gyda nodded. "Of course I trust you, Athelstan."

As if by second nature, his lips curved into a smile upon hearing those words. "Good." he said, "Now, you'll just need to sit up a little bit...here, let me help you."

Wrapping his arm around her, he was able to help her sit up just enough so she could drink the tonic without choking on it. She cringed slightly, as the liquid traveled down her throat, earning a cough when it had finally been completely swallowed.

He laughed softly. "That bad, is it?"

Gyda shook her head. "No, it just burns a little."

"Well, the burning should go away soon." he provided. "You should be feeling better by tomorrow, if the tonic works as it should. In a short time, you should be back to normal again."

Silence passed between them, not an uncomfortable one, but nonetheless, silence. Athelstan sat with Gyda a moment longer. Maybe to make sure she was okay, maybe just to keep her company while her mother was away. Whatever it was, it just felt necessary.

"Well," he said suddenly, when he felt that his welcome was running thin, "I shall check on you tomorrow then."

Athelstan made to stand and leave and would've if it weren't for a small hand grasping his sleeve. "Please, stay." Her blue eyes pleaded with him longingly in a way that he couldn't bear to refuse. Gyda needn't say anything more. Athelstan promptly returned to his seat, beside her make-shift bed.

Gyda was such a small, innocent thing, in his eyes. She was still very young and not quite as outspoken as her brother, Bjorn. Instead, the girl had taken up more of a reserved role, not to say that she couldn't be outright when the occasion called for it, but out of all of the Lothbroks, it was she who was most likely to keep her head when put to the test. This said, he was taken aback by what she said next.

"Athelstan, if I die, will you say good-bye to Bjorn and Faðir? Will you promise me that?"

He paused, taking in her words. At first, he thought maybe she was joking, but her eyes told him that she was perfectly serious.

"I don't fear death." she assured him, just as any true Viking would say. "I just want to make sure that it would be done in case I do die."

"Gyda..." Athelstan managed, "You are not going to die."

"How can you be so sure?" she questioned. "The days I've been sick out number yours and you are already well again." she shook her head. "I don't understand. If the gods wanted me to die, then shouldn't I already be dead? If they wanted me to live, then wouldn't I be better already?"

Athelstan shrugged. "I cannot answer that for you." he said truthfully. "But I can tell you that one thing our gods have in common is this: everything they do has a purpose. So, in saying this, I can assure you that you would not be alive right now if you weren't meant to be. I believe that you can, and will get better again, but only if you believe so too." he smiled at her encouragingly. "Stay strong, Gyda. I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

She smiled a nodded. "I'll look forward to it."

* * *

><p>Every day that week Athelstan paid Gyda a visit. He'd, first, give her her daily dosage of the tonic, which seemed to have a very positive effect on her and everyone else whom he had tried it on, then he'd sit and talk with her for awhile. As she had told him once before, she craved company more than anything. With Ragnar and Bjorn gone and her mother busy running Kattegat, she often spent the majority of her time lying alone with naught but her thoughts, thus Athelstan had concluded that in order to heal her, he needed to provide her with one simple thing...someone to talk to.<p>

Of course, he'd originally begun this daily ritual based purely on duty, to Ragnar and to his conscience, but over time he'd begun to realize that he actually enjoyed his visits with Gyda and even looked forward to them. The girl, once so quiet and reserved in his eyes, was now an entirely different person to him. She was so lively, even in her sickly state, and intelligent. Given, he'd had a rather limited knowledge of women, but even so he could see that she was quite ahead of her time. She had ideas, visions, plans for herself that impressed him. Gyda, as he had learned, was a really great girl.

He was on her way to visit her one particularly frosty morning when he entered the great hall and wasn't immediately greeted by Gyda in the normal fashion of her waving at him from across the room. His first reaction was worry, but he quickly pushed that aside and thought logically. Maybe she hadn't noticed him walk in, or maybe she'd lost track of the time, or better yet, maybe she was sleeping. Yes, that had to be it.

Thinking nothing of it, he continued on into the room to where Gyda's usual place was only to find that it too was missing. Now, he had allowed the feeling of panic to sink in.

In his frenzy, he caught the attention of a woman who had been caring for the remaining sick and beckoned her over.

"Excuse me, but where is the girl who was here just yesterday?" he inquired.

She looked at him questioningly for a moment before she made a connection. "Oh, yes, the Earl's daughter, I remember. We had her bed moved out just this morning." she replied before returning to her work, as if she'd only been commenting on the weather.

Dread washed over him as his body stiffened. No, it couldn't be true. She was getting better...she can't be... He couldn't even bring himself to say it, let alone think it. It wasn't possible. In that moment, he cursed his own breath. Why should he be allowed to live and she die? He, that had next to nothing to live for, when she had so much yet before her? It didn't make sense. It just wasn't fair.

Dumbfounded, Athelstan left the hall, stumbling out into the street. Wondering aimlessly about, he soon found himself in the forest located in the northern outskirts of Kattegat where he sank to his knees and allowed himself to do the one thing that made sense to him in that moment. Pray.

"Dear Heavenly Father, I know what I've been taught, and I do trust in your judgement, but in being a human, I still cannot help but wonder why. Why couldn't it have been me instead? This..." he looked about him at the strange wilderness surrounding him through his glassy eyes. "This life...what is it if it has yet to be lived? God, hear me. Why couldn't it have been me in her place?" his lip quivered from all the emotions raging inside of him-anger, sadness, grieving, bewilderment, frustration, and above all, guilt. "I'd gladly take her place, if it means that she'd have a chance to live." he paused, shaking his head, "All I ask, Lord, is that you help me to understand. In Jesus' name, I pray, Amen."

Unclasping his hands, he sat there for a moment, letting all of his emotions subside. Soon, after the initial shock had abandoned him, he was left with one thought...Lagertha. She didn't know yet. God...she didn't know. As much as he dreaded braking the news to her, he knew it had to be done. With a heavy heart, he began on his way to the living quarters of the Hall.

* * *

><p>The Hall was separated into three main parts. The first, was the Great Hall, a large room made to hold a large amount of people for anything from entertaining to village-wide court sessions. The second, was purposed as a private meeting room, used for business and other such affairs concerning the greater good of the land. Lastly, there was the living quarters, nestled in the very back of the hall. There, the earl and his family lived, along with important members of the household, which, at the moment consisted of just Siggy and himself, Siggy's daughter, Thyri, having recently been deceased.<p>

He had walked the path to the living quarters many times, but somehow, this time was much longer. His feet weighed him down, refusing every step, his heart beat quickening the closer he came to his inevitable fate. How could he possibly tell her such a thing? It didn't matter. It had to be done. He had no choice.

Stopping outside of the doorway, Athelstan gathered his courage, taking a deep breath and regaining his composure. He had to tell her, there was no turning back. Looking to the sky, he grasped the crucifix in his pocket tightly. "Lord, give me strength."

"LAGERTHA!" Well, that came out a lot louder than he meant it to...

Looking about the room, his eye caught movement. "Athelstan, you frightened me." she removed her hand from her heart and abandoned her weaving, moving towards the priest in the doorway instead.

"I..." he began, but his words were lost. He had only the ability to look at her, look and gape. A moment of silence passed between them. Finally, Athelstan spoke, "Gyda." His legs found the ability to move once again, making their way ever so slowly towards her.

"Is everything alright?"

Athelstan took her hand. It was so cold. Her skin was sickly pale, her blue eyes searching his for some type of explanation, but how could he oblige when hardly believe it himself?

"I don't understand," he began again, "I...I thought...they said you where dead."

Gyda smiled and shook her head. "No, I'm not dead." His eyes stared unwavering into hers as she slipped her hand into his. "I have you to thank for that." she said, "You saved me."

"You're alive." he breathed, touching her small, pale cheek as if to make sure she was real and not just some haunting illusion. His fingers brushed over her soft skin gently, his hand shaking ever so slightly in the fear that she might disappear at any second.

"My fever broke last night," she continued, "They kept me until morning to make sure I wasn't dying in place of recovering. At first light Móðir came to check on me and they let me go." her lips curled into a smile. The life in her that he once knew returned to her eyes. "I'm going to live, Athelstan, I'm going to live."

A smile tugged at his lips. She was going to live.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been four years since she'd left Kattegat, and she yet could still remember the day as if it was yesterday. She'd been helping her mother pack for the majority of the morning. There was no question if Gyda would leave with her, the real question was whether Bjorn would come as well.

On occasion, her mother would look over to her and offer her a small smile. Gyda knew better than to mistake the smile for joy; she knew all too well how much her mother was hurting inside. It was no secret that her mother loved her father, but, as she had explained to her before, she would not stand such humiliation, even from Ragnar.

Gyda didn't know how to feel about her father's lover. Whereas Bjorn was openly hostile towards Princess Aslaug, Gyda had found herself in uncomfortable silence every time she saw her; silence...and the overwhelming urge to spit at her feet. How dare she come here? How dare she speak to Bjorn and herself as if she were their friend. Gyda had already determined that she could never be that woman's friend. It was her fault. If it wasn't for her, none of this would've ever happened.

But then, was it really all her fault? After all, her father did have equal share. He knew what he was doing and he didn't care worth a damn that he had a wife and daughter waiting for him at home. No, he had slept with another woman whilst Lagertha cared for a dying village, nearly loosing her daughter in the process. So, should she really lay all of her hatred on the princess, or should the true recipient of her distaste be her father? Besides, if it wasn't Aslaug, it could have easily been any other woman.

Ever since Aslaug had made herself present in their lives, Gyda hadn't been able to look her father in the eyes knowing that he'd spawned a child with a woman other than her mother. She loved him, as she always would, but she couldn't help but feel deceived. If her father had loved her mother, Bjorn and herself as much as she had thought, the thought would have never crossed his mind to be unfaithful. She had noticed her father had been a little strange since her mother had lost the baby, but until now Gyda had assumed it was just grief. Now she knew that it was more than that. She had always known that her father was an ambitious man, but she had never thought that he'd go to such ends for power; for the sons that the gods had promised him.

Most of all, she could never forget when her father had tried to stop them. Riding up in front of their wagon, he clambered of off his horse, regarding her mother with such hurt in his eyes and in his voice. Next, he had looked at her, and for the first time that she could remember, she saw tears brimming his eyes. She could still remember the throbbing of her heart, as he engulfed her in a hug, his hand running through her long blonde hair as he had always done.

They had nearly began on their way when Bjorn came running over the hill. He stopped to catch his breath, his eyes moving between his family. His mother, his father, his sister. "I've changed my mind." he had said, his gaze moved from Ragnar to the wagon seat where his mother and sister sat. "I'm coming with you."

Four words. Four words had lost her father his family. Four words had forever changed their fate.

* * *

><p>"Defend yourself. Know your opponent, predict their every move."<p>

Gyda sneered at her brother, using all of her strength to keep his blade from scathing her body. Their swords scraped each other's surface, each fighting to gain dominance. "What do you think I'm trying to do?" she said through gritted teeth. "Besides, maybe you should take some of your own advice."

Before Bjorn could react, Gyda retreated her force, making him stagger forward, thus catching him off guard and giving her the edge which she quickly took advantage of. In one swift movement, she was able to knock his sword from his hand and pin him to the ground, her blade threatening to cut his throat. "Next time maybe you should learn to keep your wits about you." she offered, smiling smugly down at him.

Bjorn rolled his eyes, shoving her off of him and getting himself back on to his feet. As he brushed the dirt off of his tunic, he glanced down at her and reluctantly offered her his hand. Gyda gratefully accepted, straightening her dress and trying her best to get as much dirt off of it as possible. "Don't get too cocky. I _let_ you win that one." he claimed.

Now it was Gyda's turn to roll her eyes. "You're just mad that you lost." she declared, sheathing her sword. "You were so confident that you could beat me, like you always do...or should I say, _used _to and now you're angry that you lost."

"Am not!" Bjorn protested, jabbing his sword in his sheath so forcibly that the sound of the two metals colliding rang for a few minutes prior.

"Oh, right," Gyda consented. She knew Bjorn's temper was rising, but she also knew her brother well enough to know when too much was too much. She hesitated for a moment, but putting aside her thoughts, she delivered her final blow, "You're not mad that you lost, you're mad that you lost to a _girl_."

Bjorn pursed his lips. She knew he would never hurt her, but she could also see his irritation rising. So, in order to make amends, she tended to him like she would any man. Attend to his pride. To a man, his ego is everything, one thing she could thank her father for teaching her.

Smiling knowingly, Gyda nudged him playfully, "Don't be too angry, Bjorn, that just means that I have a good teacher."

A smile tugged on Bjorn's lips. "I am a good teacher, aren't I?" he nodded, in agreement with himself. As predicted, her complimentary strategy was doing the trick; Bjorn had near completely forgotten his anger. Nobody could ever argue that he wasn't Ragnar Lothbrok's son...that was for sure.

Smiling to herself, Gyda tossed him a water skin, taking a seat at the roots of one of the trees in the clearing. After taking a quick swig of water, Bjorn took a seat beside her. He eyed the water skin thoughtfully for a moment, allowing his mind to wonder elsewhere, which did not go past Gyda's notice.

"What are you thinking about?" she questioned.

Bjorn shrugged. "Do you ever think about Kattegat? Do you ever wonder what it might be like now? What Faðir is like now?" Maybe he already knew the answer, maybe he didn't. Gyda would never know due to the fact that he didn't wait for an answer. "I do." he continued before she was able to form a single syllable. "I don't regret coming with you and Móðir, but sometimes I wonder...how might life have been different...if...if none of that would have happened, if all three of us never had had to leave Kattegat."

"I do think of Faðir." Gyda admitted. "Sometimes I find myself missing him, the way he'd run his hands through my hair, the way he'd teach us about the world...and other times I resent him, for what he did, to Móðir and to us. I love him, but I think a part of me will always be hesitant to forgive him." she paused, averting her gaze. "I've often thought of Kattegat...but not just of Faðir..."

"Who, then?"

Gyda shrugged nonchalantly, "Everything. The sea where we used to play, the great hall where we used to feast and entertain, the forest where we'd explore until we had no choice but to return home because it was getting too dark... everything and everyone, Floki and Helga, Siggy, Torstein, Uncle Rollo...Athelstan..." she hesitated before saying the last name. The one who truly occupied the majority of her thoughts.

Catching wind of this, Bjorn cast her a sideways glance, eyeing her curiously. It was true that the pair of them had both grown to love the priest whom their father had brought back with him from England, but he could hear the true emotion in her voice, there was something more going on in her mind than merely missing the priest. Nevertheless, Bjorn knew better than to push matters and resolved to keep his question vague. "The Priest? Why?"

Again, Gyda shrugged. She'd always been fond of Athelstan. He'd been sort of like another big brother to her since her father had brought him from England, but ever since she'd left, she found herself thinking of him more often than she cared to admit. "I don't know. I guess it is probably because I never got the chance to say goodbye to him."

It wasn't too far from the truth. Gyda never did have the chance to say goodbye to Athelstan, but she doubted that was the true reason why she couldn't stop thinking about him. One look at her brother and she could tell that he wasn't convinced either. However, he was the type to press her about matters, especially when it involved her blooming interest in the opposite sex.

Sensing the awkwardness arising between them, Gyda quickly changed the subject. "So, what makes you mention Faðir and Kattegat? You haven't been the same since you returned from Ribe. Has something happened?"

Bjorn cleared his throat, hesitantly meeting her questioning gaze. "Yes, something has happened." he affirmed. "Faðir is away on another raid in the west, in England."

"Yes," Gyda urged, all of her attention focused on her brother. Her sea blue eyes staring at him expectantly. "And?" she pressed, "That can't be all. Faðir has gone on raids before."

"Yes, but this time is different. While I was in Ribe, I overheard some merchants talking about Kattegat. I, naturally being interested, eavesdropped on their conversation. As it turns out, in our Faðir's absence, Jarl Borg of Götaland has invaded Kattegat, killing all who resisted. Rollo, Princess Aslaug, Siggy, Princess Aslaug's children...they've all fled."

"I don't believe it..." Gyda breathed, her eyes wondering about aimlessly, as if searching for an answer to aid her confusion. "But surely Faðir will return, to claim back his land and to get revenge." she said hopefully, "Won't he?"

"Yes, that's what I thought," Bjorn agreed, "But he's going to need help, _our _help. I've talked to Móðir about convincing Earl Sigvard to send Ragnar aid, but she was reluctant to listen. She says that Sigvard would never agree to aiding Ragnar."

"She's right." Gyda said thoughtfully. "This isn't our stepfather's quarrel. He won't listen to reason as is, what makes you think he will willingly send aid to Ragnar? However, that doesn't mean that _he _has to." Her eyes met his, a dangerous proposition being voiced from them.

Bjorn understood immediately what his sister was suggesting. Smiling and shaking his head, he laughed knowingly. "Gyda, whomever says you're nothing like our Móðir is a liar."

Gyda smiled. She sat up a little straighter in pride."So, I'm assuming there's a plan?"

"Need I tell you?" Bjorn teased. "Of course there's a plan."

"Alright," she urged. "Out with it."

"Well, as you know, Sigvard is a lazy drunk, he won't be up until well into the morning, which gives us the opportunity to leave without him stopping us. By the time he realizes that we're gone, well be a good half a day away from this place."

Gyda nodded, considering this information. "Great, we just have a few problems...we don't know where the refugees are, nor can we fight Jarl Borg's forces with only three of us...it's just not realistic."

Bjorn shook his head, smiling knowingly. "Yes, you're right, but you forget that it was Móðir who came up with this plan, not I. She's got everything figured out, as always. As for the men, they're already detained, ready to leave at a moment's notice. You'd be surprised how many men there are here who aren't loyal to Sigvard."

Gyda snorted, "Would I?" she asked sarcastically. She stopped laughing abruptly when she caught her brother's gaze. He frowned at her, pursing his lips in an annoyed manner. Clearing her throat, she composed herself once more. "Sorry," she muttered, "Continue."

"As I was saying," he began, "We have roughly thirty to forty good warriors. Plus you, Móðir, myself and whatever if left from Ragnar's forces...that gives us chance, at the very least. As for the refugee's whereabouts, we have scouts who've reported activity at an abandoned farm house nearby Arhus. We have reason to believe it's the survivors from Kattegat. The plan is to travel there and hope is them, if not we'll seek out further information."

Gyda nodded, pleased with the answers he provided. "Right then. It seems everything's in order. That leaves just one more question left to answer...when do we leave?"

A smile tugged at her brother's lips and in his eyes resided a spark of excitement. "We leave tonight."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Ribe and Arhus are some cities that I looked up that are in between where Kattegat is said to be and Hedeby, Scadinavia (where Earl Sigvard's lands are in the TV series). It may not be entirely accurate to history, but I tried my best to have the cities that I'm using to fill in information that the TV show left out to be as historically accurate to the time period as possible, for instance Ribe was supposed to be a trading center, so I thought it was best fitting that Bjorn here of Kattegat's fall there. However, for all I know, those cities might not have existed yet in the time that Vikings was set. All I can say is that I tried. The TV show wasn't exactly clear on how Bjorn and Lagertha came to receive all the information that they had, so I did my best to fill in the blanks. I hope I did this chapter just.**

**Lastly, thank you all for the reviews, favorites and my new followers. I always like to see that people enjoy my stories. You are much appreciated. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

Nearly four years had passed since Princess Aslaug had bore him the first of their sons, whom they named Ubbe. He had nearly been a year old when the princess was yet again with child and had, months later, given birth to the second of their sons, Hvitserk. Then, not long after Hvitserk had turned two, Aslaug was once again pregnant. Ragnar Lothbrok had always known he'd have many sons and each time another was born, he found himself falling in love over and over again, each time, the joy of being a new parent rekindling to build a brighter flame. There was no doubt that Ragnar loved his children. Every one of them.

He had often times found himself thinking of his son and daughter whom he had lost many years ago. Four years, and he could still remember the day that they left like it was only yesterday. He could remember every detail and still feel the knife that had punctured his heart. On occasion, he'd find himself wondering how they'd changed, after all, they weren't children anymore. Bjorn was near a man, seventeen years old and Gyda...she was practically a woman. How time flew.

He found these thoughts occupying his mind as he sharpened his ax with his whetstone, tracing the dark rock evenly over the blade. Questions bustled about in his mind: What did they look like? What were they like? Where had they gone? And, above all, were they even alive? Questions that were ever present, and forever left unanswered

However caught up in his thoughts he was, Ragnar didn't jump when Athelstan sat beside him, in fact, he had noted his presence before he was even in sight. He met his eyes for a moment before returning back to his battle ax. "Priest, what do you think has become of my family?" he asked simply.

Athelstan's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "They're still in Kattegat." he stated, somewhat uncertainly, "Are they not?"

"Ragnar shook his head. Abandoning his work, his eyes ventured into the fiery depths of the crackling flames that provided the only light against the black Wessex night. His expression remained solemn, his thoughts wondering far away from Britannia to some place where he, himself was unaware of the whereabouts. "Not that family."

A silence grew between them as Athelstan pieced together Ragnar's words. "You mean Lagertha, Bjorn and Gyda." he didn't ask, because he knew he'd guessed correctly.

Ragnar nodded, not meeting the priest's eye. "What father would not wonder about his children?" he sighed, placing his ax on the ground and pocketing his whetstone. "My son is a man and my daughter, a woman and I've missed it. I've missed seeing them grow, I've missed seeing the people they've become. They are strangers to me now. If they stood before me, in this moment, I doubt I'd recognize them."

Athelstan bit his lip. Although he wished he could disprove Ragnar's claims, he knew he couldn't. Everything he'd said was true. He bit his lip in his frustration, his eyes moving between Ragnar and the flames to which his eyes were glued. "They're your children." he said eventually. "Even if you did not recognize them physically, you would know it is them in your heart."

Ragnar met his gaze. His blue eyes, weary from battle and stress, studied him hopefully. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Often, whenever I think of Bjorn, I think of a tall young man, taller than I." he closed his eyes, focusing intently on the vision of his son. "He's strong too. A great warrior." he opened his eyes again, his mouth now fully curved into a grin. "All of the women would adore him."

Athelstan chuckled. "I wouldn't doubt it."

"Yes," Ragnar agreed, "That would be Bjorn. Handsome, strong, and adamant. Sometimes a little too adamant, but still a great man, with a kind heart." he nodded thoughtfully. "And protective. Even as a boy, he'd never let any harm befall his Móðir or his sister." Again he paused, his expression softening as his thoughts shifted to his only daughter. "Gyda." he breathed, his eyes locking with the priest's.

In all the time Athelstan had known Ragnar, he had never seen him brighten as much when he spoke about someone than when he spoke about his daughter. Not even Aslaug or Lagertha could measure up to the amount of pure joy Gyda gave him. He could physically see the love in his eyes as he said her name, each time the intuitive smile that came to his face traveling up to his eyes to share in their pleasantries.

"They say a man must love his sons more, but a man can be jealous of his sons and his daughter can always be the light in his life." He said. "And that is Gyda. Beautiful, intelligent, humble Gyda. People often mistake her for being weak in comparison to her brother or myself, but in many ways she is stronger than both of us, much like her Móðir." he paused again, retreating back into his self pity. "She's probably a lot like Lagertha." he sighed, running his hand down the length of his beard. "I hope she is. That way I'd be comforted to know that she'd never let her husband treat her like I treated Lagertha."

Athelstan shifted uncomfortably. Although he'd never voiced his opinion aloud, he'd been troubled ever since he'd gained knowledge about Ragnar's activities with Princess Aslaug, which only farther vexed him when he witnessed how he had simply let his lust tear his family apart. Part of him wanted to berate his selfishness by reminding him that it was his fault that he lost his family, but then the other part pitied him. One thing that he learned from his years in the monastery was that people make mistakes. Even in the Lord's Prayer, "Forgive us our trespasses," and thus, the Christian Athelstan, which would forever be a part of him, was compelled to pardon him for his sin, and instead focus on doing what Ragnar needed him to...being his friend.

"Gyda is a strong girl-"

"Woman." Ragnar corrected him. "She would be sixteen by now."

"Right," Athelstan consented, "Woman." the word rolled awkwardly off of his tongue. Every time he thought of Gyda, he'd always pictured the same twelve year old girl that had left Kattegat four years ago, but, as her father had pointed out, she most definitely was not a little girl anymore. He found that hard to fathom. "As I was saying, you needn't worry about her well-being. She's strong minded and I'm confident that she's grown into a fine young woman."

Ragnar nodded again, shoving one of his hands into his pocket, fumbling around with something inside of it. His eyes followed his hand as he retrieved a gold band, the mark of freedom in Viking culture. Turning it thrice in hand, Ragnar eyed it thoughtfully. "This was for you." he said, his gaze returning to Athelstan.

"Y-you where going to make me a free man?" he stuttered. "Why?"

Again, that signature smirk tugged at Ragnar's lips. "I don't trust easily, Priest, especially not with the things I hold most dear, but for some reason, I trust you." he paused, his smirk disappearing, being replaced by a more serious tone. "When she was old enough, I was going to give you my daughter, my Gyda."

It took a moment for Ragnar's confession to sink in. Him, marry Gyda? Surely that's not what he meant. After all, she was only sixteen, he was nearing twenty five, nearly nine years were in between them! Of course, it wasn't uncommon that young women were often married to men many years their senior, but still, Athelstan still couldn't come to odds with the prospect of taking Gyda, the girl he'd for a long time viewed as a little sister, as his wife. Just the prospect of taking a wife in general made him uneasy. He'd sworn a vow that he'd never marry, yet here he was, talking about just that.

"I...I'm not sure I understand you correctly." he mustered once his shock had begun to subside. "Why me?"

"Why not you?" Ragnar challenged, a smile forming upon his face. "My daughter's happiness is not a business deal. I want her to be happy with whomever I allow her to marry and I want that man to be somebody who I can trust her to be safe with." he shrugged, "I already know that I will never be completely convinced that any man is suitable enough for her, but I am quite certain that I will like you more than any other man who might come along." His smile broadened mischievously, "Besides," he added, "You're less liable to bed her; any father would appreciate that." he paused a moment, hesitating before handing the gold band to Athelstan. "I may not still have my daughter to offer you, but I can still offer you this."

Athelstan felt his cheeks warm, no doubt turning a bright red at the thought of bedding Gyda. In many ways, he was still very naive, having never been with a woman. He looked at him uncertainly before accepting the band and placing it on his arm, identical to where Ragnar wore his.

The Norseman smiled. "Lagertha and I had that made long ago, having talked over this issue." he explained. "After all, an Earl's daughter couldn't rightly marry a slave." he teased, nudging his shoulder a moment before his plague of solemnness came over him again. "How different things would have been." he wondered out loud. "For all I know, my daughter is already married to some other man, but rest assured, Priest, I'd much rather have you as a son in law."

Athelstan nodded quickly, reminding himself that Ragnar wasn't actually proposing that he marry Gyda, but confessing to him that it had once been a thought; a thing of the past. Deciding it best not to linger on the topic, for his own sake, he quickly changed the subject. "If you miss them so much, then why haven't you sought them out? It's no secret that you yearn for them...all of them."

Ragnar's eyes darted to him upon catching the last of his words. Athelstan knew as well as anyone that Ragnar had never quite stopped loving his first wife. He'd kiss Princess Aslaug and provide for her like any doting husband, but it wasn't hard to tell that there was hardly any emotion behind the gestures. The love he had for Aslaug steamed from the sons she had bore him, not from the same vine in which his love for Lagertha had blossomed. Somewhere, deep inside him, a bit of him had grown ill since Lagertha left, a part that had to be revived.

Ragnar sighed, coming to his feet and gathering up his things. "I shouldn't have mentioned this." he declared apologetically. "Forget I said anything." he said. Offering him a small smile, he beckoned towards the tents, "I've much to discuss with King Horik tomorrow. I am going to get some sleep, and I suggest you do the same."

Not waiting for his response, Ragnar turned his back on the priest and disappeared into the night.

* * *

><p>Athelstan recalled that conversation vividly, night after night after Ragnar had left to avenge his family back in Scandinavia. Maybe he regretted staying, maybe he didn't, but one thing was for sure, without Ragnar, Athelstan had never felt so alone, nor so conflicted.<p>

He was surrounded by sin. Everywhere around him, the sound of screams filled the air. The other night, King Horik and his men had raided a nearby village, taking with them a handful of women along with their treasure to amuse them. The sound sickened him. How could this be just? He found himself questioning the life he had chosen, wondering if the Athelstan that once was was still there or whether he had died long ago.

Trying his best to distance himself from the horrid sound, he retreated into his tent. Running his fingers through his hair, he sighed. No matter how hard he'd tried to reject the world he'd been thrown into, he couldn't help but be emerged. Likewise, no matter how hard he'd tried to amerce himself into the world of the Northmen, he could never achieve his goal. Every time he'd come close to renouncing his former life, something always drew him back. A whisper, that beckoned him, pleading with him to return.

Sitting among the animal skin blankets, he had nearly laid down to sleep when a familiar shape caught his eye. Rummaging amongst the skins, he discovered a book, but not just any book, but the Bible...the thing that had once beheld his entire being. Handling the pages tenderly, he examined page after page, familiarizing himself again with his native language. He explored, until he'd come to an image of Christ, nailed to the cross, identical to the engravings in his crucifix which he'd kept hidden beneath his sleeve.

As he examined the image, his vision blurred, seeing naught but the crucifixion, the outside world becoming very distant, the blood becoming real in his eyes, seeping on to the parchment, staining the paper and his hands. The screams of the innocent rang in his ears, only growing louder as the blood thickened. In his fright, he dropped the book, furiously wiping at his hands in attempt to cleanse himself, but there was no blood. It had all been in his head. The screams, however, were very real.

Just outside his tent, he heard the muffled sounds of a woman struggling, followed by the heavy breathing of a man. Unable to stifle his fury a moment longer, Athelstan marched outside. Coming up from behind the attacker, he snatched him off of the poor woman by the scruff of his neck and pulled him to his feet, pausing just long enough to prepare his fist to connect with the man's jaw. Drunken and confused, the man cradled his bleeding face and hurried away from him, deciding against picking a fight with him.

The girl, still lay frozen in her shock, her hands clinging desperately to her tattered clothing, trying her best to hide herself behind them. She eyed him wildly, unsure if he was truly trying to rescue her out of the goodness of his heart or if he merely wanted her body for himself. She flinched as he touched her hand, cowering away from him for the fear of what he might do.

"You needn't fear me." he assured her, speaking in his native tongue so she could understand him. "I will not harm you."

Upon recognizing his words, she relaxed a bit. "Y-you speak our language?" she stuttered. "I don't understand."

For a moment, Athelstan considered confiding in the woman, but, thinking better of it, he merely shook his head. "Don't ask questions." he ordered. "I'll help you get out of here, but please, ask nothing more of me than that."

The woman nodded quickly, accepting his hand and following him to a part of the encampment that had been left virtually unguarded. "I'll make sure nobody watches you, all you have to do is keep running until you are far from this place." he told her. "Keep running, and don't look back."

The girl nodded, thanking him quickly before crawling underneath the wooden barricade and sprinting near soundlessly into the forest.

As he watched the small figure of the girl disappear into the woods beyond, Athelstan wracked his brains as to why he would do such a thing for her, a complete stranger, knowing that if she was caught, he'd be the one to suffer the consequences. Maybe it was his unwavering morality. Maybe, as hard as he'd worked against it, his will was weak. Or maybe...

His heart lurched at the realization. The undeniable fact arose to his attention. Every time he looked at that girl, he saw another's face. Another whom, for years, had only existed in his memory.


	4. Chapter 4

_Blood. Streaming from the nails in his hands and feet and from the collection of thorns which crowned his head, pressing into his skull mercilessly. His screams echoed through the land as he, along with the wooden boards he was attached to, was raised from the ground and propped up right. Once again, he yelped in his agony, his pain causing him to be unaware of the man with the spear, pointed at his heart, prepared to thrust it into his beaten flesh._

Gyda awoke with a start upon feeling a hand upon her shoulder. Once realizing where she was, her breathing returned to normal pace, as did her heartbeat. The familiar face of her father frowned down at her. His eyes, piercing blue, even in the darkness of the barn. Upon noticing her discomfort, he took a seat beside her and took her hand. "What is the matter, Dóttir?" he said kindly to her, pressing his rough, calloused hand to her small, soft cheek.

She shook her head, her mouth parted, but she neglected to speak due to lack of the sufficient words to describe what she wanted to say. Her eyes met her fathers, pleading with him to understand, for the fear of what would become of herself if she should relive her frightful nightmare. Weakness was not something Gyda would allow herself to convey, especially not to her father.

Her finger traced his beard, trailing over a patch of dried blood that had been left, unnoticed, from his mission. Ragnar had killed someone. "Blood." she whispered, her thoughts beginning to translate into words. "So much blood...where does it stop?"

Ragnar pursed his lips, averting his gaze from hers momentarily. Returning to a standing position, he motioned for her to follow him. "Come." he said. He offered her his hand, which she reluctantly accepted, wondering where he could possibly be taking her.

Outside of the barn, the night was still, foretelling the coming of winter with its unforgiving chill. Gyda pulled her shall tighter around her body to preserve the little warmth she had. Keeping a few paces behind Ragnar, she watched him curiously as he trudged purposefully through the strange land. They had not gone too far from the makeshift shelter when he stopped abruptly. He sat, his eyes connecting with the starry skies above him.

Gyda hesitated, awkwardly trying to make sense of what he wanted her to do. Should she join him, or would that be imposing? Deciding it best not to over-think things, she joined him, placing herself in the shelter of the tall meadow grass.

"You don't have to put out the fire when all is ash."* he said suddenly, although his eyes did not once abandon the sky. "The world burns." he continued. "It is a raging fire. Believe me, or do not, but I've come to find that sometimes the only answer to such ruin, is in blood." He looked at her, but she could not read his expression. He regarded her curiously; studying her as if she were a stranger...which, in truth, she wasn't far from.

"Answers made in blood does not heal the wound." she replied, trying her best to avoid displaying any sort of emotion.

She was surprised to find Ragnar chuckling in response to her. Not in spite, but laughing nonetheless. "It would seem your móðir and I have produced a daughter that is as wise as she is beautiful." he shook his head once again, his eyes reflecting his admiration for her. "You are so like your móðir. Intelligent, kind, beautiful and above all else, strong, in many ways." he stopped suddenly, letting his smile fade in silence. "I wonder...is there anything in you that is of me?"

For the first time, in years, Gyda felt pity for him. In hopes of offering him some sort of comfort, however small it was, she placed her hand on top of his. "Of course there is." she insisted, offering him a small smile. "I would not be your dóttir if I was nothing like you. If you don't believe me, then let me prove it to you."

Ragnar smirked. Evidence of his genuine amusement. "How?"

"On the battlefield." she stated simply. "Let me fight with you to restore your lands...take me to Wessex with you, let me raid." she squeezed his hand her her excitement, her eyes set aflame with passion, of the kind Ragnar had never seen in his her before. "Faðir, let me fight. I've trained with Bjorn, every day since I've turned thirteen. I am ready. I know I am."

"A Father spends his all of his son's boyhood preparing him for the day that he reaches manhood and joins him in battle; it is expected of the son to follow in his father's footsteps. However, his daughter..." he sighed and shook his head. "A father can expect certain stages in her life...when she becomes a woman, when he must present her to another man whom will take her to be his wife...he can expect it, but, as I have found, he can never be prepared for it, such as I am now. However, I will not pretend that battle is not a dangerous thing, but I will neither keep you from engaging in it."

A smile spread on Gyda's face. "Thank you, Faðir."

Ragnar chuckled at his daughter's delight. "I assume your móðir has already consented this?"

She nodded confidently. "Yes. She's proud that I've decided to take after her."

"As she should be."

A comfortable silence passed between them in which both of them turned their attention to the sky. It did not go unnoticed by either of them how, in so short of time, the previous tension between them had near completely vanished. The wonderful realization arose between them that the loved one they had once lost had indeed been found again.

"There is one more thing I wanted to talk to you about." he said awhile later. "Something that has occupied my thoughts for some time now."

Gyda raised her eyebrows, questioningly. "And it is?"

Ragnar shifted slightly, his mouth curling into a small smile. "Something all fathers dread." he replied. "Have I any men trailing after you yet? I'd hate to think you're already promised to a man I have yet to meet."

Gyda blushed and shook her head. "No." Thinking twice about it, she eyed him quizzically. "Why? Is there a husband you have in mind for me?"

Ragnar shrugged nonchalantly. "Perhaps."

Curiosity getting the better of her, she sat erect, her full, pink lips curling into a mischievous smile. "Who? Do I know him?" Her face contorted into a look of disgust; her nose scrunched and lips pursed as her thoughts shifted to Thyri's husband. What if she met a similar fate? "He...He's not a foreigner...is he?"

Her father smiled at her knowingly. "And if he is?"

Gyda sighed, looking at the ground in disappointment. She knew it was too good to be true.

"You do know him." Ragnar provided. "And If I remember correctly, you were rather fond of him."

Her heart lifted as if it were a feather caught in a sudden gust of wind. Could he be talking about him? The very man that had haunted her thoughts mere minutes before?

He opened his mouth, about to reveal the man's identity, when he suddenly shook his head, deciding against it. "It matters not." he decided, smiling at her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. "Let Bjorn, Rollo and I be the only men in your heart for now. I've only just gotten you back, I don't plan on losing you any time soon."

She could feel his beard tickling her skin as he kissed her forehead. Closing her eyes, she let her head rest on her father's chest. The rhythm of his heart beat met her ears. She listened to it intently. The sound shifted in her mind to the sound of a hammer against nails.

No matter how hard she fought it, fear lodged itself in her heart for a man across the sea.

* * *

><p>Athelstan's hand moved steadily across the page, carefully forming delicate script. As if by second nature, he painted the parchment with paste. It had been years since he'd copied a book, yet the art was still so familiar to his hands. Ever since he'd been accepted into King Ecbert's court, he'd used his revived talent somewhat as a coping method. It comforted him that he found something familiar to him in this strange place.<p>

He stopped his work as his hand began to ache. Tenderly, he touched his bandaged palms. Sometimes, he could still feel the nails pressing through them. Fortunately, his hands, along with his feet, had been healing quite well. The alchemist had even ventured to inform him that he'd be able to walk without his cane in time. There was no doubt; he was a lucky man, lucky, even to be alive. He thanked God every day for that...his life.

God.

What _did_ he believe?

In his heart, there was still the devoted Christian, but over the years he lived in Scandinavia, he'd grown to love and honor their gods. Odin, Thor, Freya, Frigg. All massing about in his mind and in his heart, neither dominating nor receding to his god. In the gentle fall of rain from Heaven, he heard his god, but in the thunder, he still heard Thor.

Script had become a great distraction from his conflicting thoughts and he often found himself, as he did now, copying texts in the library, where he was seldom disturbed.

He sighed, picking up his brush once more and beginning his calligraphy again. He'd only gotten, perhaps, a paragraph in to his work when he was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of King Ecbert's voice.

"You have a great gift, Athelstan." he said, peering over his shoulder to get a better look at his handiwork. He edged closer to him, marveling at the carefully formed script which swirled over the parchment accompanied by vibrant images and patterns. "I believe it is a divine gift."

"Thank you, sire." he replied, reuniting his brush with the others. Moving from his desk, he placed his full attention on the king. His eyes moved between King Ecbert and the parchment, his heart filling with pride for such a compliment. "I thought I might have forgotten, but..." he trailed off, his hands gently touching the brush. "I love these materials." he said. "The brushes, the paste, the colors...I had not appreciated how much I missed my work."

He surprised himself at his admittance.

The king frowned, looking at him curiously. "The pagans have nothing like it?"

Athelstan shook his head. "No. They have no art. They can neither read nor write, except for their carved runes."

Nodding thoughtfully, King Ecbert paced about the room, his hand absentmindedly stroked his beard, a habit that Athelstan had noticed he preformed when in deep thought. "And their gods..." he continued, "Odin and Thor and Freya...how strange you must have found them."

There, Athelstan paused. No matter how much he tried to tear himself from it, it always seemed to present itself again. The ever present internal controversy. "Their gods are very old," he managed, after a short pause. "and sometimes I couldn't help but noticing some similarities with our own god and his son."

Again, he nodded thoughtfully. He pursed his lips. His eyes met Athelstan's with a decisive stare. "Right," he said suddenly. "Come with me, there is something I'd like to show you."

* * *

><p>Athelstan marveled at the magnificent mural before him. Long years had drawn cracks and faded its color, but the beauty remained, timelessly preserved. Images of bloody battles and beautiful women decorated the walls. They were dressed in odd clothing and armor, accompanied by strange creatures, half bull, half man, half horse, half man, half man, half goat. Each figure was traced with gold, which reflected the gentle light of the candles which radiated the beauty of the mural even more.<p>

"Tell me honestly," said the king, standing back as to not disturb Athelstan's careful examination of the piece, "What do you think of these works?"

"I..." he shook his head. He was at a loss for adequate words. They were capitulating. Settling on the most appropriate comment that came to his mind, he responded. "I find them indescribably beautiful."

"But they're clearly pagan."

Athelstan stiffened. What sort of trap had he run into? His son, Aethelwulf had probably warned him of Athelstan's seemingly infidel behavior and now he was going to suffer the consequences. He calculated the king carefully, warily trying to anticipate his next move.

Surprisingly, Athelstan received a smile. "You are only a monk, Athelstan, and yet I begin to trust you." he paused, seeming to appraise him. "You are earning my trust...much as you earned Earl Ragnar's."

Ah, so _that's _what this is about.

"You told me once that Ragnar came to accept you as if his own family...he must have trusted you dearly."

Reluctantly, Athelstan assented his assumption with a nod of his head. "Yes. Throughout the years I had been in Scandinavia, Ragnar Lothbrok never really treated me like a slave. In many ways, I owe him my very life." He hadn't realized that in his thought, he'd produced the golden band the northman had given him from his pocket and currently held it blatantly in his hands. "He gave me this," he confided to the king, against his better judgement, "It is the mark of a free man in Viking culture." he explained.

"And what reason did he give, to offer you freedom?" asked the king, gazing intently at the band that sat innocently on Athelstan's wrist. "It is obvious that he trusts you...but to what extent?"

"He made me an offer once," he began, nevertheless, ending abruptly upon determining the topic to be too personal, but it was too late. The king tilted his head in his curiosity, gesturing for him to continue.

Athelstan cleared his throat awkwardly. He could feel his cheeks grow warm as the thought formed in his head. "He made me the offer of his daughter, sire." he said. "His only daughter, to take as my...my wife."

"Well," stated the king, nodding thoughtfully, "It certainly takes a great amount of trust to willingly give his daughter to a man...interesting, indeed. You've come to know Earl Ragnar quite intimately, I understand...pray tell, what sort of man is he?"

"He is a family man, first and foremost." Athelstan replied without hesitation. "He is very loyal, unless the counterpart proves untrustworthy...he is not the kind of man you would want to double cross. He is also very ambitious...much like you, sire."

"And would you wager he would return to Wessex?"

Athelstan hesitated. Beginning to see through the king's innocent act, he pondered whether he should trust King Ecbert in return. There was something about him which he remained suspicious of. Carefully formulating his words, he answered as casually as possible. "As I said before, Ragnar Lothbrok is an ambitious man. Although he is unpredictable, one thing I know about him is certain...he does not abandon unfinished prospects."

* * *

><p><strong>*Viking proverb<strong>


End file.
